The giant that lives in the hill Is cleaning his chimney out. The soot flutters high In the cold, white sky And the wind flings it rudely about. Now it's falling in fragments of black Where the tops of the maples are red; And a world that was still Of a sudden's a-thrill With the sounds of a spring that is dead! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHANSON D'AUTOMNE by PAUL VERLAINE KING DAVID by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET VALENTINES TO MY MOTHER: 1884 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI PLACES: 2. FULL MOON (SANTA BARBARA) by SARA TEASDALE IDYLL 11. THE CYCLOPS by THEOCRITUS |